“Impossible, absolutely impossible!”
Watanabe clenched his fists, his body trembling uncontrollably.
At this moment, Sakuragi Hanamichi, shaking his red head, leaned in— “Hey! Weren’t you the one talking tough just now?” Sakuragi secretly nudged him with his arm, “Why aren’t you so smug anymore?”
Watanabe gritted his teeth, trying to get away, but Sakuragi’s steps were much faster than expected, like a red plaster he couldn’t shake off.
“You don’t even need Sendoh to deal with you; this genius is enough. Hahahaha.”
Kawaguchi dribbled outside the three-point line for two circles, looking for Nomura Masato’s screen, and just as he raised his hand to signal, Gu Jin suddenly emerged from Nomura’s side.
“The screen has been broken!” The commentator’s voice suddenly rose.
Kawaguchi panicked, wanting to pass the ball back to Watanabe, but as his fingertips just touched the ball, a hand suddenly reached out from behind—it was Sendoh again.
While Sakuragi was still verbally interfering, Sendoh had quietly circled behind Kawaguchi, hooked the ball with his fingertips, and then turned and rushed towards the Rikawa half-court.
With no one blocking him, Sendoh rushed to the free-throw line, jumped directly, and with a flick of his wrist, made a clean jump shot— “Swish!” The ball went through the net cleanly, 6:0.
Rikawa’s head coach, Sato, was practically deforming his tactical board in front of the bench, his rough voice piercing through the court’s clamor: “Where is your defense?!”
“Pay attention to teamwork; don’t try to go one-on-one easily!” He pointed at Watanabe, who was dribbling on the court and hesitant to pass, “Pass the ball around! Use tactics to defeat them! Screen! Cut to the baseline!”
As soon as he finished speaking, Watanabe, as if receiving an order, quickly threw the ball to Kawaguchi.
Kawaguchi gritted his teeth and dribbled, his peripheral vision catching Nomura Masato posting up under the basket. Just as he was about to drive inside using Nomura’s screen—before he even moved, Gu Jin suddenly darted out from diagonally behind him, and in a flash, wedged himself between him and Nomura.
The position was extremely tricky; Nomura couldn't receive the ball at all!
Kawaguchi held the ball and stood outside the three-point line for two seconds. Out of the corner of his eye, Sendoh Akira was already closing in, and Sakuragi Hanamichi was still bouncing under the basket, shouting, “Shoot it! You can’t make it even if you shoot!”—He gritted his teeth, then suddenly jumped high, flipped his wrist, and threw the ball out.
“Clang!”
The ball hit the front rim and bounced high.
Itakura Yuta had already positioned himself under the basket, and just as he raised his arm to grab the rebound, a figure suddenly darted up from diagonally behind him—Sakuragi Hanamichi sprang higher than him like a spring, spread his five fingers, and pressed the ball to his chest. As he landed, he stuck out his neck and shouted, “The rebound is mine! This genius is the Rebound King, Sakuragi Hanamichi!”
Before he finished speaking, he flicked his wrist, and the ball flew directly to the frontcourt.
Sendoh Akira ran towards the ball, and just as his fingertips touched the ball, Watanabe Kenji pounced from the side, sticking tightly to his side.
Sendoh, however, did not panic. While dribbling, he suddenly twisted his foot, and with a turn, he bypassed Watanabe. But as he rushed forward half a step, Takagi Yuta came up from diagonally behind, spreading his arms to block in front of him.
Everyone thought Sendoh would drive straight through, but he gave a slight flick of his wrist, and the ball slid along the floor towards the sideline.
Fukuda Kiccho was already waiting there. He didn’t even slow down when he received the ball, took three steps to the basket, and with a flick of his wrist, sent the ball into the hoop— “Swish!”
8:0.
The moment the electronic scoreboard changed, a person abruptly stood up from Rikawa’s bench—it was Head Coach Sato.
He slammed the tactical board hard onto the floor and yelled, “Timeout! Timeout!”
The referee’s whistle immediately blew.
Rikawa’s players slumped their heads, walking towards the bench like deflated balls. Watanabe Kenji kicked the floor, and Kawaguchi Shota squatted on the ground, covering his face with a towel.
Sato pulled the five players closer, slapped the tactical board onto the table with a “snap.” It was covered with densely drawn running routes: “Look at what you just played?! I told you to use tactics, not to just hold the ball and force it!”
He pointed at the circles on the board: “Kawaguchi, don’t hesitate after crossing half-court, pass immediately to Nomura! Nomura, you go set a screen for Takagi to draw Gu Jin away! Watanabe, you run along the baseline, Itakura, post up under the basket—do you understand?!”
The players lowered their heads and responded, “Understood,” but their eyes all showed panic.
Sato took a deep breath, then softened his voice: “Their tactics are fast, but we can keep up. Don’t get flustered by those few plays just now. Later, run as I’ve drawn, and we’ll definitely catch up!”
On the sidelines, Ryonan’s players were gathered, drinking water. Sakuragi Hanamichi was still demonstrating his rebound from earlier: “Did you see that? How cool was this genius’s move!”
Taoka Moichi glanced towards Rikawa, a slight smile playing on his lips—he had seen Sato drawing his tactics clearly.
Compete with Ryonan in tactics? Are you serious?
Taoka Moichi withdrew his gaze, cleared his throat, and stood among Ryonan’s players.
Sakuragi Hanamichi was still rambling about his glorious rebound, when Taoka gently tapped him on the head: “Stop fooling around; listen to the tactics.”
“Coach Sato is quite persistent,” Taoka said with a smile, his eyes sparkling, “Since he insists on competing with us in tactics—then let them see what true tactics are.”
He squatted down and used his finger to draw a simple triangle on the floor: “Do you still remember the Triangle Offense we practiced before? Gu Jin, later you, Sendoh, and Uozumi will stand at the three vertices. When the ball is being passed among you, don’t stop moving your feet; pull their defensive Center of Gravity to the perimeter.”
Then his fingertips drew two intersecting arcs next to the triangle: “And add a ‘Figure-Eight Convergence.’ Fukuda and Sakuragi, run the play we practiced—Fukuda cuts along the baseline from the right wing, Sakuragi circles the free-throw line from the left wing. When the two of you cross near the free-throw area, no matter who is open, Sendoh or Gu Jin will immediately pass the ball.”
“The triangle pulls their zone defense apart, and the Figure-Eight Convergence drills into their seams.” Taoka clapped his hands and stood up, his gaze sweeping over the five starters, “Don’t they want to run tactics? Then let them see that tactics aren’t just lines drawn on a board; they’re something that bites when you run them.”
The players’ eyes all lit up. As Gu Jin nodded, his fingertips unconsciously fiddled with the hem of his jersey. Sendoh Akira smiled and bounced the ball on the floor, and Sakuragi Hanamichi clenched his fists and shouted, “Understood! We’ll definitely make their heads spin!”
Timeout ended.
Rikawa’s players had just run back onto the court, their faces still showing the tension of following tactics.
Kawaguchi Shota dribbled past half-court, his eyes unblinkingly fixed on Nomura Masato—according to Sato, he should pass the ball immediately.
But at the moment of the pass, with a “smack,” the basketball was stolen by Gu Jin.
After crossing half-court, Ryonan’s players suddenly moved.
Gu Jin passed the ball, then cut from outside the three-point line to the basket, while Uozumi Jun moved two steps outwards, perfectly wedging himself between Nomura and Itakura;
Sendoh Akira stood at the top of the arc to receive the ball. As he flicked his wrist to pass the ball to Gu Jin, he suddenly ran to the left side—the vertices of the triangle instantly changed positions, and Rikawa’s defense, which had just tried to collapse towards Gu Jin, was suddenly pulled halfway out of position.
“They’re moving! The zone defense isn’t keeping up!” The commentator’s voice even rose slightly.
Sato urgently shouted “Box out! Don’t get disorganized!” from the sidelines, but before he finished speaking, more chaos ensued.
Fukuda Kiccho suddenly burst out from the right wing, taking small, quick steps as he cut along the baseline. Sakuragi Hanamichi followed closely, circling from the left wing. The two crossed paths with a “swish” in front of the free-throw line—this was exactly the “Figure-Eight Convergence” Taoka had described.
This completely bewildered Rikawa’s players.
Takagi Yuta was originally guarding Fukuda. When Sakuragi ran over, he instinctively shifted half a step sideways, trying to block, and his defensive position instantly became open;
Watanabe Kenji had run halfway along the baseline when he looked back and saw the ball in Gu Jin’s hands suddenly passed towards Sendoh, and next to Sendoh, Uozumi Jun had appeared to block him—the triangle’s ball was still being passed,
the Figure-Eight’s players were still running. On the court, Ryonan’s players moved like a woven net; although everyone was moving, there was an indescribable tacit agreement about them.
Kawaguchi Shota stood rooted to the spot, his eyes wide.
“What are you waiting for?! Defend!” Sato yelled, jumping up and down in front of the bench.
Rikawa’s players were still reeling from the previous running movements.
The basketball had already been thrown— “Swish!”
10:0.
The moment the ball went in, Rikawa’s players stood on the court, looking at each other, their faces completely bewildered.
Their zone defense structure was torn to shreds, and the routes Sato had drawn on the tactical board earlier were now completely useless.
Sato’s hand, holding the tactical board, froze in mid-air. The voice that had just been shouting “Catch up!” was swallowed back down.
On the stands, the roar of Ryonan’s cheerleading surged, and Taoka Moichi stood on the sidelines, slowly taking a sip of tea, his gaze sweeping towards Rikawa’s coaching bench.
Compete with Ryonan in tactics?
This slap in the face came faster than anyone expected.